The Aphrodisiac Encyclopaedia
Page 12
Pour the mixture into a silicone ice-cube tray (or a deep baking tray lined with parchment paper). Allow to cool, then chill for 2 hours to complete the setting process. Turn the pieces out of the ice-cube tray, or if set in a baking tray, use a sharp knife to cut the Turkish Delight into chunky cubes.
Finally toss in a bowl containing the icing sugar mixed with a teaspoon of cornflour. If the idea of a contrasting crispy coating floats your boat, toss in crushed toasted almond flakes or pulverised pistachio nuts.
Spices
CHILLI
Pleasure and pain are at the heart of chilli’s aphrodisiac reputation. Like the stinging crack of a dominatrix’s crop, the hit of too much chilli is without question a painful experience. Tender derrières and sensitive tongues will be equally on fire. I have often wondered why it is that the body rewards such masochism with the warm embrace of confused arousal.
Psychologist Paul Rozin puts forward the theory of ‘constrained risk’. The exhilaration you feel riding a roller coaster is enjoyable only because your fear is unfounded. Your body believes it is in an extreme situation but you know you are perfectly safe. You can enjoy the rush of adrenaline recognising that you aren’t going to have to either fight or flee. The same principle applies to pain. The sensation of pain is the body defending itself from harmful threats. The pain from a hot curry, or a playful spanking, triggers a slightly different defence mechanism but again there is no real threat to bodily well-being. The sudden rush of pleasure-giving endorphins is designed to anaesthetise pain, allowing an injured animal to make good its escape to safety. As there is no real danger to evade, you can focus on pleasure instead. The feel-good raised pulse, dilated blood vessels and sweating of the chilli buzz are sensations shared with the physiology of sexual desire. When there is no escaping to be done, the confused mind defaults to the sexual response, kindling a libidinous inferno.
Those with steam coming out of their ears will argue that the pain they feel is very real indeed. The solutions are simple: milk or moderation. Cold milk is the most effective way to extinguish a chilli fire. Milk’s casein proteins have a detergent effect on the capsaicin in chilli, washing away unwanted heat but leaving that sensitive glow. Moderation is less likely to set fire to your libido but then again it is also less likely to douse your shirt in perspiration and turn you into a sweaty mess. A little sweat is quite enough to send forth your come-hither perfume of sexual pheromones. The effect is likely to be undermined if you need to towel yourself down. Similarly, dilated pupils, a slight flush and a pouty plumping of the lips signals sexual interest far more effectively than scarlet-chested, wide-eyed staring.
Chilli evolved its unique heat as a biological defence mechanism. Deciding that birds were the best way of scattering their seed, chillis devised the burning compound capsaicin as a way of deterring seed-crushing mammals from eating their fruit. Unlike mammals, birds are immune to capsaicin – a characteristic exploited today in the chilli-treated seed that birdies use to confound feeder-thieving Squirrel Nutkins. Unlike us, squirrels don’t know that pain is in the mind and they leave well alone.
The use of chilli as an aphrodisiac is long-standing. In its native Central America, the fortifying hot chocolate widely drunk as an aphrodisiac was seasoned with the sharp smack to the system of fresh chilli. Montezuma, the conquistadored Aztec king, was a chilli-chocoholic. Whether his daily tangle with his team of concubines was cause or effect is unknown – either way he is said to have drunk fifty glasses a day. Migrating to Europe with returning explorers, chilli soon spread across the warmer parts of the world. In Indian and Chinese traditional medicine, chilli is used to heat up a frigid metabolism. It is employed to boost the similar concepts of vatta and yang, which are gauges of libido.
If you also want to re-calibrate libidos upwards, chilli can be just the ticket. As discussed already, its aphrodisiac appeal lies in applying the correct dose. For maximum gratification you want heat levels to hover just under bearable. To ensure there are no unscheduled explosions, the prudent bon viveur adds his chilli at the end of cooking as if seasoning with salt. Removing the seeds and scraping away the fiery inner membrane and pith also allows for a larger margin of error. Sugar syrup comes a close second to milk as a calming balm for a burning mouth. Thai sweet chilli dipping sauce uses this to great effect allowing the enjoyment of more heat with less burn. Incredibly versatile, it makes a fantastic dressing for the fusion dish of squid ink spaghetti with tiger prawns, bok choi and Szechuan pepper. Less glamorous but equally fusion is the midnight snack of toast, cream cheese, sweet chilli sauce and grated mature cheddar. Similarly simple is another oriental favourite: Vietnamese green mango and crab summer rolls come with a sidekick of liquid fire in their classic chilli and vinegar accompaniment – almost hallucinatory, strangely addictive but undoubtedly arousing.
Green Mango and Crab Summer Rolls with Chilli Dipping Sauce
SUMMER ROLLS
Green mango : 1 small mango
Spring onion : 3
Mint : ½ tbsp
Coriander : a small handful
Thai basil : a small handful
Rice vermicelli : 80 g
White crabmeat : 100 g
Bean sprouts : a handful
Black sesame seeds : 1 tsp
Toasted white sesame seeds : 1 tsp
Toasted sesame oil : 1 tsp
Ricepaper pancakes : 6
Grate the mango and finely slice the spring onion, mint, basil and coriander.
Cook the rice vermicelli as per instructions, then refresh under cold water.
Mix the vermicelli, herbs, mango and onion with the crabmeat, bean sprouts, sesame seeds and sesame oil.
One by one, dip the ricepaper pancakes for 5 seconds in tepid water then place a line of filling along the middle of the pancake. Fold each end in and roll tightly into 4 cm cylinders.
Serve cut in half on the diagonal.
CHILLI DIPPING SAUCE
Bird’s eye chilli : 2
Lime : 1
Fish sauce : 2 tbsp
Rice vinegar : 2 tbsp
Rice wine : 2 tbsp
Palm sugar : 1 tbsp
Finely chop the chilli and zest the lime.
Place all the ingredients in a small pan and over a gentle heat stir until the sugar dissolves.
Taste and add additional salt, sweetness or sharpness as required. The flavour should be a balance between the saltiness of the fish sauce, the heat of the chilli, the sweetness of the sugar and sharpness of the vinegar.
Serve in a shallow dipping bowl.
GARLIC
Garlic is the ringleader of a pretty pungent aphrodisiac gang. This foul-mouthed crew includes onions, shallots, leeks and chives. Accused of inciting desire, these outlaws are unwelcome at Buddhist monasteries and amoung Hindu Brahmins. Asceticism is anathema to the bon viveur. Clasp these renegades to your bosom and let romance blossom under the stinking rose’s sensory benediction.
I like to think the stinking rose refers to garlic’s base aphrodisiac appeal. Certainly the ancient Greeks, who first coined the phrase, were firm believers. It was part of the daily diet: athletes gobbled it before Olympic competition, soldiers likewise before martial feats. The maverick medicos Hippocrates and Galen both agreed that garlic gave potency a good poking. The tradition survives to the present day. Garlic is Greece’s most popular aphrodisiac, popping up everywhere from the creamy tang of tzatziki to the garlicky potato paste of skordalia, and pretty much everywhere in between. On the Ionian Islands, widowers who remarry are fortified for marital manliness with a pre-wedding feast of garlic-based dishes.
India’s Ayurvedic traditions are in absolute agreement. More mature men whose sexual moon may be waning are directed to garlic’s get-up-and-go. More generally, it is recommended wholesale as a sexual tonic for almost any sexual misfortune: impotency from overindulgence to nervous exhaustion from dissipating habits. Garlic is classed as both rajasic and tamasic, fuelling passion and ignorance. It ro
uses the body and suppresses the mind. Understandably, yogis who have taken a vow of celibacy rarely test their resolve with a nice aioli. Those of us who are vow-free are advised to forget themselves, enjoy that aioli and revel in the rousing.
This is no mystic mumbo-jumbo. Garlic is scientifically proven to bring on the lover man. It not only boosts circulation but more importantly stimulates the release of nitric oxide. Nitric oxide is the messenger boy of arousal, the signal for downstairs to unleash a man’s Moby Dick. The willingness to wield one’s hormonal harpoon is also boosted. Experiments on rats show that garlic and a high-protein diet significantly increase testosterone levels. If ever an excuse was needed for a steak slathered in garlic butter, now you have it.
The only cloud on garlic’s aphrodisiac horizon is the spectre of halitosis. More than any other failing, I find it hard to overlook bad breath. Holding your nose is no way to make love. The smell of raw garlic on the breath is strong but not unpleasant. The true garlic breath needs time to mature. As garlic is digested it produces allyl methyl sulphide, a noxious-smelling sulphurous compound that cannot be digested. Instead it is absorbed into the blood from where it is finally excreted from the lungs and skin, causing the telltale fetid breath and rank sweat of yesterday’s garlic binge. Some claim parsley is an effective remedy. Although it hides the initial blast of raw garlic, parsley does little for the subsequent miasma. Milk, however, goes some way to stopping the rot. Milk proteins absorb this sulphurous compound quite effectively, allowing you to quietly kick garlic out the back door having had your fun.
Garlic is extremely versatile in the kitchen. Crushed raw garlic presents a ferociously feisty proposition. The crushing process activates garlic’s allicin, which is primarily responsible for its strong flavour. Salt, parsley and lemon attenuate its strength but a little still goes a long way. Briefly cooking garlic mellows it greatly. Roasting whole bulbs produces an almost entirely different flavour, rich and sweet with scarcely a trace of its raw fieriness. Although cooking may reduce garlic’s aphrodisiac efficiency, in this instance the gourmet is going to have the final say. A roast garlic and butter bean soup flavoured with Parmesan is a silky, sensual delight. Drizzle some melted garlic butter over the top to provide contrast to its civilised restraint. If it is groin you are principally after, unleash some machismo on a juicy steak with a feisty garlic, fresh herb and anchovy beurre maison. Head off halitosis by washing it down with a glass of milk.
Garlic Beurre Maison
Garlic : 3 fat cloves
Sea salt : ½ tsp
Salted anchovy : 2 fillets
Butter : 75 g
Parsley : 1 tbsp
Rosemary : 1 tsp
Black pepper : ½ tsp
Remove the skin from your garlic cloves. Using a serrated dining knife scrape away at each clove until it is a mush. Using the salt as an abrasive, scrape the knife repeatedly over the mush until the garlic becomes a very smooth viscous paste.
Finely chop the anchovy fillets, then work them into the garlic paste in the same way as before. They should be as thoroughly combined as is possible. You could use anchovy paste or Gentleman’s Relish if you have these to hand.
Warm the butter slightly, then work it into the garlic paste.
Finely chop the herbs and grind the pepper, then mix into the butter.
Transfer the butter to a piece of cling film and roll into a sausage about 2.5 cm in diameter. Place the butter in the fridge to chill thoroughly.
The butter is now ready for your steak. Cut a 1 cm round from your butter log. Pop it on the steak immediately prior to serving, so it melts at the table. The butter can also be used to make garlic bread and is fantastic worked into a chicken before roasting. Asparagus loves it, as do roast scallops and snails.
Roast Garlic and Butter Bean Soup
Garlic : 2 large heads
Salt : to taste
Olive oil : 2 tsp
Butter beans : 400 g (1 can)
Chicken stock : 500 ml
Bay leaf : 2
Thyme : 1 small sprig
Clove : 2
Peppercorn : 2
Butter : 50 g
Parmesan : 2 tbsp grated
Double cream : 100 ml
Parsley : 1 tsp
Preheat the oven to 180°C.
With a sharp knife cut across the top of both heads of garlic – about one third down from the pointed end. Discard the top third and season the bottom part of each bulb with a pinch of sea salt and a teaspoon of olive oil. Loosely wrap each head in foil and place in the preheated oven to cook for one hour. Once cooked the garlic should be very soft, sweet and oozing with mellow flavour.
Remove the butter beans from the can and rinse under cold running water. If you want the smoothest, silkiest texture to the soup remove the skin from the butter beans too.
Place the rinsed, skinned beans in a large pan with the chicken stock and all of the herbs and spices except the parsley. Bring to the boil then turn the heat down, cover with a lid and simmer gently for 20 minutes.
Strain the beans, taking care to reserve the infused chicken stock. Remove the herbs and spices from the beans and discard. Place the beans in a blender with the butter and squeeze in the flesh from the roast garlic heads. Add two thirds of the chicken stock and blend until very smooth.
The blended soup should have the consistency of double cream – add the remaining stock gradually until you have the desired thickness.
Pass the soup through a fine sieve back into the pan. Stir in the Parmesan and the double cream. Taste and season if required with salt. The soup will benefit from being left overnight for the flavours to mature but this is by no means essential.
Finely chop the parsley so it is almost like dust.
Pour the soup into bowls. Put the parsley in a sieve and shake over the soup to give it an even green dusting. Serve with crusty bread and a rich white Burgundy.
GINGER
Ginger is the panacea of the spice world. Chinese and Ayurvedic medicine regard this fiery root as a healing gift from the gods. It can clear a cold, soothe an upset stomach, still nausea and dry diarrhoea. The list goes on. Cancer, arthritis, circulation – there is almost nothing that cannot be cured with ginger’s healing heat. It goes almost without saying that ginger is also an aphrodisiac.
Ginger’s groin-warming goodness was first documented in the first century AD. Graeco-Roman physician Dioscorides recommends it as stimulating to the male organ. In the tenth century the illustrious Arab doctor Avicenna credits it with ‘increasing lustful yearnings’. Five hundred years later, the famed mediaeval medical school in Salerno was advising ageing romantics to ‘eat ginger, and you will love and be loved as in your youth’. If feeling extreme, our autumnal lovers could take things several steps further. Figging is the distinctly fringe practice of gingering a basement orifice. It was originally devised to keep horses’ tails high on parade; enquiring Victorian minds decided to try it for themselves and found it was surprisingly good, though probably not morally so. The initial burn apparently gives way to unbridled desire.
Modern medicine is generally impressed by ginger’s curative claims. Its aphrodisiac reputation is equally well founded. Ginger’s zingy flavour and sharp heat come from three volatile oils: gingerol, zingerone and shogaol. Subtler cousins of the chilli kick, ginger’s active ingredients stimulate the body in much the same way. They trigger sensory receptors designed to detect heat and physical abrasion. The body experiences a burning sensation and yelps. Biological defence mechanisms quickly kick in to put out the problem. Pulse rates race and blood vessels dilate in a coordinated effort to protect the damaged tissue. Anticipating ongoing anguish, the body also issues a stream of soothing endorphins, papering over the pain with pleasure. This combination is a ringer for arousal. As ginger’s burn subsides quickly, these warming effects can turn suddenly to wide-eyed arousal.
Ginger’s aromatic and earthy, citrus heat tickles taste buds as well as biological defence mechan
isms. The intense oriental flavours of ginger, chilli and garlic are the cornerstone of Indian and Chinese cooking. The base for almost every Indian curry, they are equally ubiquitous in the broths and stir-fries of China. The Japanese eat ginger pickled, in between bites of sushi. In Europe and America, ginger is all about baking. As fresh ginger would rot before reaching Europe, it was always imported in its dried and ground form. Ground ginger was used to spice biscuits, bread, cookies, cakes and drinks. The first gingerbread men were English, appearing spontaneously in Elizabeth I’s court. Ginger beer popped up in the seventeenth century. English taverns put out pots of ground ginger as a condiment. Some experimental punter put a pinch in his pint and the rest is history.
As with most ingredients, ginger is best fresh. Although ground ginger is twice as hot as fresh ginger, the fresh variety provides a far more exhilarating blast of upfront flavour. The kick is pretty keen in a warming glass of ginger tea – black tea spiced with a couple of slices of fresh ginger and sweetened with honey. When it comes to dining I rarely get past the classic Chinese combination of beef and ginger. Their strong warming flavours are a match made in heaven. Rouse passions and save money with a crispy beef and ginger stir-fry that craftily stretches one steak across two mouths.
Crispy Beef with Ginger Fries
Rump steak : 250 g
Garlic : 2 cloves
Red chilli : 1
Rice wine : 2 tbsp
Dark soy sauce : 2 tbsp
Toasted sesame oil : 2 tbsp
Honey : 2 tbsp
Ginger root : 100 g
Fine green beans : 100 g
Spring onion : 100 g
Cornflour : 100 g
Salt : a large pinch
Chinese five-spice : 1 tbsp
Egg : 1
Vegetable oil : 100 ml